The Face of Fear
by Daystorm Mage
Summary: Not even the Younglings had a chance against Skywalker's lightsaber as Anakin took their lives. Then again, was it fate that a single survived, losing no more than an arm?


**S**tar **W**ars  
Episode III.V

**_The Face of Fear_**

_Somebody wanted to kill him_.

The idea was in his mind when he opened his eyes to the darkness of a narrow space beneath the staircase. His eyes came to a focus on a rectangle of light on the wall of the room beyond the hall, the light from setting sun through the window. If he didn't think fast, that sun would be the last he would see on Coruscant.

Standing perfectly still, he stared at the rectangle of light as if his life depended on it, yet an awareness was creeping into his consciousness that the sunlight through the window no longer mattered.

Only one thing mattered now—escape. He must get away, clear away, as quickly as possible.

There was throbbing in his skull, the dull, heavy beat that was driving everything else from his brain. His mind split in two. He had to warn them! His friends, his peers—as he was, they were no more than six in their species' years. They were too young to die!

A voice caught him in his head, _No. I will never reach them in time!_

Somewhere on the first floor, a door opened. The march of a hundred, possibly more, beings—clones, he feared, barred through the Jedi temple.

Then, impelled by what urge he could not guess, he lifted a hand toward his face. There was a twinge of pain from the arm, and with a swift flight of blue light before his very eyes and a vicious _hum_ echoing through his ears, he fell back to the ground and grunted as he landed in the darkness. The last sun fell.

He waited there in the dark a few moments before he realized he had been attacked. His arm was no longer there, his shirt now stiffening with blood. Somebody had tried to kill him.

Stiffly, he attempted to move his legs. He was conscious of the faint stirring from the darkness that had swayed into the Jedi temple. Something or someone was creeping along in the blackness, some enemy intent upon his destruction. His…_theirs_…the Jedi.

Heaving himself from the ground, he half fell against a cabinet behind him. He remained there for a moment, struggling to gather himself for an effort. Behind a thousand tears he kept in the pain. It was too late for them; _he _had to get away before his attacker came back. He was sure his attacker meant to kill him with that one swing. Was is luck the weapon took an arm rather than his life?

Behind the corner came the trampling of troops. As they neared, he froze to a statue and the darkness of the night befell about him. In the distance, he could hear the screaming, the agonizing cries as one by one, the younglings fell victim to the wrath of Skywalker.

The tears began to fall in a silent cry. He drifted, exhausted with fatigue and the pain that swept his body where his little limb no longer hung. His eyes closed over, and sleep claimed him.

* * *

"Who would've done this?" said Obi-Wan. 

"Befallen to the dark side, young Skywalker has," cried Yoda.

Obi-Wan slowly turned, peering over his shoulder at his little master. He couldn't believe what Yoda had just said, and his muscles tensed with pain. Then again, he saw it, and it was but true. It was possible, he sensed it from the beginning. However, he could not but feel the guilt and pain. Anakin was more like a brother to him than anything, and finally he had been beaten. Beaten by his own fear of loosing Padamé…as he lost his mother.

_He was the chosen One!_

Obi-Wan remembered deep in his heart a conversation he had with his deceased master Qui-Gon Jinn over ten years ago…

"_And I asked her about Anakin's father…She said there was no father. She carried him, she gave birth…She couldn't explain what happened…Anakin—'he was meant to help you…'_"

Obi-Wan dropped his head at the memory of his master, and at this time couldn't grieve to remember his master's last words: "_Train him. Train the boy…He is the chosen One…He will bring balance…_"

Under confusion and pain, Obi-Wan turned to Yoda. "But if the prophecy was true…"

"Ah!" Yoda interrupted, "Misread, the prophecy has…Be clear of mind, Obi-Wan."

"But now…is there no hope left?"

Yoda sighed. "I have failed. I shall go into exile."

There was a moment of silence in the Council room, and where the room held the stench of fresh blood and evil, there came another sound. One less rigid and more sorrowful. The door was cracked, and through it came a young boy, no more than six, clenching tightly to his right side where his arm once hung. His small, sweet, innocent cry broke the silence.

"Master Yoda!" he cried, using the door for support.

The expressions on their faces were lost in misunderstanding.

"Youngling," Yoda spoke, "spared your life has been? But how, why?" he added, looking up at Obi-Wan.

The Jedi Knight went forward and took the child in his arms. Not a human, it was, but a Zabrak, and his face seemed sullen from its natural grayish tone. His robes were ripped and though his arm had been claimed by a merciless cut, half the long sleeve drooped there.

"It's ok, youngling," Obi-Wan spoke, taking his eyes off the boy to look at Yoda's expression. The little green master came forward leaning on his cane.

"Young Sarno," Yoda said at once, "What happened?"

"I—I sensed trouble approaching…that someone wanted to kill me," Sarno said honestly, "me…everyone…but I couldn't warn anyone in time. I hid behind the stairs. Anakin," he said, "I think it was Master Skywalker…"

"How long have you been having a vision of this, Sarno?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Vision? Just recently. This morning, but I took no heed to it, Master. When the sun began to set…the feeling came to me again!"

Yoda and Obi-Wan exchanged looks. "Obviously, they know not that you are still alive. I'm sure their motive was to kill every last one."

Yoda shook his head, "Oh, the dark side clouds everything. Impossible to see…Tricked us, it has. Rallied us into a trap, almost too well, it did."

"Master Yoda," Sarno cried, "what is going to happen?"

"We must warn the Jedi of this threat!" Obi-Wan began.

Yoda shook his head, "No, Obi-Wan. There is no use to it. They have been executed. All of them."

"What?" Obi-Wan sighed heavily. "How—"

"Senator Palpatine is the Emperor," he exhaled deeply, "the clone armies are under his control. And executed they were, every last one."

"Master Windu? The Council?" Obi-Wan asked.

"All of them," Yoda sighed, shaking his head.

The Jedi knight looked down at Sarno and heaved him into his arms. "What shall we do, Master Yoda?"

"Separate ourselves, we must. The last of the Jedi, we are."

"And…the boy?" Obi-Wan asked.

Yoda turned away and watched the moon rise beyond the distant horizon of Coruscant. "Where safe is now?" he sighed, his cane tapping. "Confront the Emperor and Skywalker, we must. The child…" he hesitated, "…he must be taken to Iridonia. It would be difficult for the Sith to sense him there."

"But the Zabraks there live in a harsh world, do they not? The child will not be accepted there."

"Ah!" Yoda began, "Into the care of his own kind, we will not. The care of the Twi'leks, Young Sarno be raised."

"Obviously not a Jedi," Obi-Wan said.

"Not until there comes a time when the Force calls us back home."

"I must speak to Padamé with this issue," the knight said, gently placing Sarno on his seat.

"Upset and misguided she will be. Mindful, you, Obi-Wan." Yoda acknowledged with a nod.

"When I come back, I will take Sarno to his native planet."

"No," Yoda responded, "The Sith will wonder what you be up to. The journey to Sarno, a man named Marma shall. He is a pilot who visits here regularly."

"It will be very difficult for even an experienced pilot to get past the blockade."

"Take care of that, the Trade Federation did…when they were betrayed by the Dark Lord." Yoda informed.

"Then what shall you do, Master Yoda?" Obi-Wan questioned.

"Take the child to Marma," he responded, "then approach the Emperor, I shall."

* * *

Twenty Years Later...

In the Outer Rim territory lies Iridonia. There is only one word to describe it - harsh. It is a terrestrial planet with desert and grassland terrain, and dry atmosphere. It was originally dominated by the Zabraks, a strict race, their morals left at high standards, yet nobody dared to go against the leaders of their clans. And they were smart not to do so.

Present day, in the northern hemisphere of the large planet were human settlements, and the largest crate of popular gambling in the galaxy. The pod racing. Tens of thousands pilots and locals met up for the events each month - the tension, the thrill. Obviously a sport not for those with motion-sickness, or strict faith in non-violence. Violence was the word to describe the pod races, and that was that. If it weren't for Iridonia's extreme professions and minerals, desperate need of trade for food and water would have killed the nine billion souls who lived there. They were a democracy allied with the New Republic.

Due to its relative proximity to Coruscant, and the technological nature of its people, Iridonia benefits from a high degree of technological advancement. The hardy nature of its desert climate has allowed it to be relatively unaffected by its level of industrialization. Iridonia has three Intersystem spaceports, all of which see thousands of ships arrive and depart daily. The largest of the three is called Peaoria Spaceport, and is located about ten kilometers outside the planet's capital city of Peaoria. Paeoria Spaceport is the only one of the three that has the capacity to support capital scale ships.

Yet this is not the story of the harsh planet, not the Twi'lek or the humans, not even the daring Zabrak - just a single of its species. A lone boy named Sarno, apprentice to one of the finest pilots in the galaxy, Captain Eidns. Yet there was more to Sarno than what met the eye, I'm sure you can guess, but it wasn't about what had happened in the past before he was sent here to his home planet. Iridonia seemed unaffected by the Clone Wars, and as the years went by, Sarno seemed to forget about the planet-city of Coruscant, he even forgot how he had lost his arm, which he chose not to be mended with a limb of machinery. More important things bothered him these days.

Like getting his pilot's license. Incredibly, he was one of the best native from Iridonia, even with just a single arm. He was hard-working, brave, and loyal to his masters at the pits, but he happened to be foolish. He was raised in the humane city an orphan, but despite his young age, he had many fans...because of the local sport called pod racing. He entered one race and won, yet never entered one again. Foolish? No.

That day happened to be the same as his pilot's test. Foolish? Yes. And for that, he had to wait another year, possibly two, before the next exam to come around. There was nothing much he could do save wait for the year to pass.

Sarno looked out from his hut and watched as the sun set. He remembered seeing one like it once, but couldn't remember when or where. It reminded him of peace, and the moon reminded him of energy. Both were essential to a pilot. Both were essential...to a _Jedi_.

His caretaker Weyvren set his dinner on the table along with it his profit from cleaning his master's ship the last eight days. With a soft wave of the hand and a few words in the native tongue, Weyvren left Sarno's presence. Sarno turned back and looked at what rest on his table. However, he was not hungry for food. There was always something that bothered him. He might have been just twenty-six years in age, but of the twenty he has been here he never once remembered doing anything as daring as a single pod race. How had he survived these last twenty years with nothing but a small three-room hut he had by himself and a few visits throughout the season from his Twi'lek friends, if not for piloting? Even his mind was too thick to remember any dreams. Dreams to him, were scarce. Anyway, what good would there be to dwell on dreams? A fool's life.

Sarno was well-educated despite being a Zabrak. He knew very little about his heritage, even less about the tattoos they seemed to carve upon their bodies. Sarno believed the tattoos were popularly worn on hunters and explorers to intimidate their prey. He looked down upon his hand where he had begun painted his gray skin with a hunter's green. The lines were shaky having been drawn with his mouth. Sarno shook his head. He took a warm cloth and washed the paint away.

He sighed heavily as he drunk down his herbal drink. He dropped the cup by the abandoned food and it grew cold as Sarno headed for his room in the basement. He shed his tunic and fell into his cot, staring blankly at the wall opposite. He expected twenty years of his life to be exciting. Oh, sure, learning how to become a pilot was a dream come true, and Sarno wanted something more. He was carefree, and always sought a grand adventure. He couldn't wait to go into space, because Iridonia did not feel like home.

* * *

The next day a sandstorm threatened the lands upon the horizon. Peaoria rest on that far-off horizon, and because of that, Sarno did not feel like getting up and working in the craft arena with his coworkers. Come to think of it he hadn't a day of rest since the last sandstorm - three days ago. 

He smirked at his own laziness and strolled over to his racer transport that sat just outside the door. With less than a sigh, he through his leg over the seat and switched on the engine with a quick flick of the finger when a voice called out for him.

"Master Sarno! Master Sarno!"

He looked over his shoulder to view his fourteen-year-old neighbor Sheha. The short blue-skinned Twi'lek held a stick in his hand, and it dragged on in the sand behind him as he rustled forward.

"What is it, youngling?" Sarno asked at once.

"Have you seen father? He's gone after Trara, but hasn't come back!"

"Kenfe's missing?"

"Father! Trara, my younger brother! Have you seen them?"

Sheha's face was at the verge of tears, and a cold breeze swept up Sarno's spine as he listened to his young neighbor. "Where did Trara run off to?"

"I think the Tusken lands! I think!" Sheha cried. "Trara and I had a fight. I said he was a coward. I said prove me wrong, go into the Tusken lands. Idiot I am, I tell you, I'm an idiot!" His voice rose.

"The Tusken raiders, are you sure?" Sarno interrupted. "How long have they been gone?"

"Since yesterday morning," Sheha cried.

"Idiot you are, boy! The Tuskens are monsters!"

"I come with you! I come with you!" Sheha demanded, grabbing at Sarno's trousers.

"Stay here, Sheha, where it is safe."

"I come!"

"You stay!" Sarno commanded, "I can withstand the heat of the valley. I can't risk your life!"

The child's cries filled his mind. He pulled Sheha out of his range and hit the peddle.

* * *

The old man stood in his doorway peering out with blue eyes. The eyes were veiled by that native suspicious all the desert fold held for strangers. Bitter lines tortured the edges of his mouth where it could be seen though a fringe of white beard. He wore wooly robes despite the heat. From somewhere behind the old man came the sound of a speeder wailing through the atonal dissonance of the dry music in the air. The wind. The old man's manner carried no drug dullness, an indication of his outcast reputation. 

He peered down into the canyon, watching as the speeder came to a halt. The sharply silver light of noon reflected against the white rocks and sullen sand. Across the way guildsman moved liked hunters stalking their prey in a strange jungle. They formed a moving design of gray robes, black robes, and ones camouflaged with the sand - yet all arrayed in the deceptively random way of the Tusken raiders.

* * *

Sarno crouched, resting elbows on knees, chin on fists, stared at the body on the sand - a few bones and some tattered flesh that once had been a young woman. They hands, the head, most of the upper torso were gone - eaten by the wind. The sand all around bore the tracks of Tusken raiders. They were gone, now, all but the ghostly winds remained. To die in the deserts of Iridonia was a common occurrence. Then, amidst his thoughts, the earth trembled like an animal shaking in his skin. Terror swept over him. 

_One moment of incompetence can be fatal..._

At that moment, a shifting of rocks crackled, and a single stone fell from the cliff and slopes above, giving off the location of a raider. Sarno's head dashed to the left, and without warning, a dart pierced the air towards him. With a single motion, an almost immediate, instinctive motion, Sarno swept along the ground and swung his hand up to his chest. His fingers snapped and in the soft grip rest the mold of the dart shot at him. He looked at his palm in almost shrill terror at what he had just done.

A hunting group of Tusken raiders jumped out from behind a boulder and lifted their staffs in the air, making long, horrible noises in their thick throats. Sarno sped his eyes around him to mark out how many of these monsters watched him eagerly. Six there were, and two more behind him. They watched him hungrily, and in his mind, Sarno's thoughts shuffled. He came to find his friend Kenfe and Kenfe's younger son.

Then, from behind him, a single Tusken slid to his level and pulled out a spear. It hesitated, then lunged forward, his party cheering him on, their throats continuing to make loud, irritable noises which seemed to intoxicate the air around them. The Tusken lunged with inhumane force, and Sarno just barely avoided impalement, tossing himself against the ground. Lifting up, his eyes upon the raider, he drew a katanto from his belt. He hissed at his attacker, yet the Tusken did not back. He actually seemed to appreciate the challenge.

In a moment where no motion was taken, the Tusken lunged forward again. And though these creatures were thought of as stupid and dull, as Sarno twisted about to parry the blow, the raider, at the last second stopped his blow. It cried evilly, both hands upon his spear before bringing the end around. The sharp edge found Sarno's forearm and drew blood. His katanto fell to the ground as the pain engulfed his mind. Yet, he stayed on feet. Slowly, the poison flanked his skin, but surprisingly, the pain began to lessen.

Slowly, keenly, the Tusken raider forwarded on Sarno, and as he backed, bent over, his injured limb against his chest, the slanted cliff above covered him in shadow. He glared at his attacker. Then, the cheer of the Tusken raiders ended; all was quite.

The creature before him halted, gurgling saliva at the back of his mouth. He watched Sarno as if no longer craving human flesh, as if Sarno suddenly disappeared. He stared at the creature, breathless, then watched as it turned away and hustled down the canyon. Its companions followed closely.

With a sigh fell against the canyon wall. A soft breeze found him as he sat there amidst the shadow of the wall. He looked down at his arm and with his teeth pulled back the sleeve which hid the injury. The cut wasn't deep but would leave a scar. The gray skin around it had swelled to a cloudy blue, and Sarno clenched his fingers. Then, slowly, released them. He held his arm before his mouth and licked his blood to clean the wound, wiped his mouth on his shoulder, and gazed down the canyon.

For a moment, he saw nothing. Then, a dark form appeared wrapped up in robes that bellowed, yet there was no wind. Sarno strained his eyes into the distance, as the shadow knelt towards the ground. A soft voice echoed to Sarno's ears, and then, the figure had gone.

He stared blankly in the same direction, curious, confused. And a voice called out his name. "Sarno! Sarno, is that you?"

The voice unmistakably belonged to his friend Kenfe.

* * *

The rumors recalled the story of the downfall of one of Sarno's own: A Zabrak - Darth Maul. There were many versions of the story, and only one was true, and it in particular was unknown across Iridonia. The myth of the legendary Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn was a popular one in these parts, and it always made Sarno wonder - what would life as a Jedi be like? He could only imagine.

According to the stories it was the Jedi who had twenty years ago turned against the Republic, and because of that the Chancellor Palpatine swore them death. Sarno closed his eyes; So maybe he had never met a Jedi, only heard horrible stories about them, but that couldn't possibly make them evil, now could it? Speaking of Master Qui-Gon for example - a legend. A good man, nothing bad about him, was there? So it was settled! Sarno believed, not all Jedi were evil. Then, he thought, what about that Zabrak named Darth Maul, originally of Iridonia?

Kenfe put a hand on Sarno's shoulder and he awoke from his wandering thoughts. "How can I repay you?"

Sarno looked at him, "I didn't do much."

"You came looking for my son and me. You fought those Tusken raiders like a warrior, and you saved us from their next meal." Kenfe said.

"I fought one. It was just rotten-pig luck I survived...ack!" he winced as Kenfe tended his wound.

"Oh, don't doubt yourself, my friend, I know how noble you are," Kenfe smiled, applying bandage, "Believe it or not you are one of the most hard-working men I know in the pits. One of the most dedicated apprentices, might I add."

"I guess I should be taking that as a compliment."

"Trara and I watched how you dodged that raider's spear and how you froze in the shadow."

"What?" Sarno questioned.

"You're very smart. You slowly leaned back into the shadow of the cliff. Did you not know Tuskens have bad eyesight? Even worse is their sense of smell?"

"Oh, is that all?" Sarno sighed, "Two years overdue rotten-pig luck!"

Kenfe smirked, then dismissed his son Sheha to the next room for more oil treatment. Tired and fatigued, young Trara went to bed before dark. And now, all was quite. Sarno breathed softly, in through the nose and out the mouth. Kenfe placed a warm hand upon Sarno's arm and his eyes ventured to the opposite side of Sarno's body. His mind became curious - then again it was always curious...

"How did it happen?" Kenfe asked quietly.

Sarno opened his eyes, and at that moment knew what Kenfe meant.

"Birth-defect, I think," he replied, touching his right shoulder carefully. "Not sure, I cannot remember ever having two arms."

"Do you know of your parents?"

"No," Sarno said, looking at the ground, "orphaned my whole life, I think. I can't remember anyone taking care of me save my master, Captain Eidns."

Kenfe smirked. "Well, whoever your parents were, they'd probably be very proud of you and who you've become despite a lost limb. I've never known you to fall into depression or never fit in. Iridonia thinks you are a great soul."

"Thank you, Kenfe," Sarno acknowledged.

"Father, we have no more of the treatment you ask." Sheha said.

"Out already? Goodness me," Kenfe sighed, checking the bedside table where he stashed little things. He browsed through the contents, but what he was looking for was left unfound. "Looks like I, myself, must take a trip to town."

"Kenfe, my friend, you've done enough as it is for me."

"Ah! But I must repay you, you saved my son and I from the Tuskens; surely you wouldn't mind me waiting on hands and feet for you."

"No," Sarno replied, "you've done quite enough, my friend."

"Very well, then."

Kenfe patted his boy on the head, "You know," he began, "ever since Marisha died my sons and I have become pretty lonely."

"There are many good-looking women out there, Kenfe."

"Actually, I wasn't thinking about that," he admitted. His words shifted, but could not form a proper sentence. He went right to the chase, "There is a pod race coming up, I'm taking my sons with me. You should come with us."

"I'll think about it, and you should to," Sarno said, "Think about Trara...the little lad has seen enough violence for a month, I think. He must rest."

"We've got two days to do so," smiled Kenfe. "Good night."

A breath was released and the candle doused with a pair of wet fingers. The night was quiet, not a stranger amidst the thirty kilometer radius where the neighborhood sat on the outskirts. Through the open window the stars were seen as clear as a calm white lake. As soft as grass...two things Sarno only heard about from the pilots who came through Iridonia. Places with free water and green grass would be like heaven compared to a place like this hell-hole: Hot, sandy, boredom. And Sarno promised, one day, he would fly away from this place. To Naboo...Endor...Coruscant...?

He heard the voice of his friend Kenfe as he tucked his son in bed and kissed both goodnight. For being human, and he Zabrak, Sarno would have it no other way. The only difference between Kenfe and he, physically, were the seven short horns that grew from his head.

Trara was in such a good mood the next day, Sarno had wondered whether the canyon of the Tusken raiders had been nothing but a dream. The wound in his arm reminded him of the truth, and he sighed. Then, he smiled, glad that Trara wasn't scarred for life. Kenfe hadn't exactly explained what had happened in the lands of the Tusken, but Sarno didn't care. He only cared that the family was safe.

Shaha was only fourteen, and Trara eight, but both were far more dependant than the average eleven year old. They helped their father with all the chores, including cooking the meals and cleaning the house, which they both did without argument. It was the first time Sarno had stayed with Kenfe and his two sons, though his house was only a few hundred yards up the lane. He welcomed and appreciated their care, but he knew it was impolite to stay. Anyway, he had chores to do himself.

"Stay for breakfast, Sarno; don't be a stubborn Wookie!" Kenfe demanded, throwing a plate of meat and eggs before Sarno. Trara and Shaha giggled from their seats as their father stole the one between them.

"Already been out to see the neighbors and told them of our story and your heroic bravery..." Kenfe took a sip of water, "Already been in contact with our boss, he says we can take this day and the weekend to rest up, and..."

"Kenfe, you have been busy," sighed Sarno, "but I've been off work for far too long..."

"You missed one day...one day!"

"I am committed to my job, Kenfe. I'm trying to prove to my master that I am ready to take the pilot's test."

"Anxious you are to leave Iridonia, aren't you?"

"Not permanently," Sarno said, "but I am ready to explore the worlds around us."

"Will you take us with you, Master Sarno?" Trara asked.

"Maybe, if I can get a ship of my own. They are terribly expensive." Sarno explained.

"Yet you still have all that dough you won in that pod race," laughed Kenfe.

"It isn't enough for half a ship."

"We'll help pay!" Trara exclaimed, "My brother and I have sixteen credits."

"That's nice of you." Sarno smiled.

"I've heard," began Kenfe, "rumors about the upcoming pod race. There is a racer native to the mysterious planet Dathomir who will take part in the event. The racer will make history! The first of Dathomirians to compete in a pod race."

"I think Master Sarno should compete," whispered Sheha.

Sarno smiled. Kenfe added, "That's a guaranteed win! More money towards your ship!"

"My master will never allow me racing again. Anyway, that'd really go to show how un-committed I am towards the pilot's license."

Kenfe blew air through his lips. His sons laughed. Sarno let down the rest of his drink. "I will join you tomorrow at the race," he said, "but I will not compete."

"Fine enough!" Kenfe said.

"Right now, I must go to the pits. I've been wanted to talk to Eidns anyway."

* * *

The truth was, Sarno was more powerful than he appeared, dare he even think that. Not that his form conveyed any softness or weakness. If anything, his shiny gray skin stretched tight over lithe, firm muscles which gave an immediate impression of quick strength, whereas those who did not know him saw him disabled for lacking an arm. He walked with a determined face, not knowing it. His facial features indicated a mind which would not hesitate to use that strength to his own advantage. 

He would always get weary looks as he came into town; it was easy for him to point out the visitors from the natives by the way they greeted him.

Paeoria was a large city, being the capital of Iridonia, and it was immensely popular compared to the other two spaceports around the world. There was always the long, single-toned sound of a ship landing at the port or the buzz of the engine of a ship taking off. Nothing really changed in these parts. It would always be busy. It would always be hot.

Captain Eidns was an elderly man with five apprentices. Three of which, including Sarno were Zabrak, one Twi'lek, and the other a young human named Dante who Sarno was a good acquaintances with. However, Dante did not have that feel for flying away from his home planet. Of all the people Sarno had met, Dante was the only one who did not wish to leave Iridonia; that led to only one possibility - he was afraid of flying. And yet he was under the apprenticeship of a master pilot?

"He's my grandfather," Dante sighed, "My father was a pilot...I can't break that family tradition!"

Sarno always smirked underneath his soft grin.

Eidns was talking to a strange character, hooded in tan cloths when Sarno first saw him through the corner of his eye. As he went forward, Eidns' acquaintance left, and they exchanged looks. "Young Sarno, if it wasn't you I'd see today, I wouldn't see anyone else! Heard about your victory over in the Tusken lands."

Sarno opened his mouth to say something, but Eidns interrupted.

"No, no! No need for excuses, I am sure it was a rough fight. Heroic, Sarno. That's all I have to say."

"Thank you, sir," Sarno found himself saying.

Eidns smiled at him through a pair of beautiful blue eyes. "I am sure you come to ask when I am hosting the next test, eh?"

"Actually...sir..."

"I'm thinking about another two months after the sandstorms have settled down. Both you and young master Ivoris seem ready, I just don't want the chance of a fatal crash due to one of Iridanio's famous sandstorms."

"I admire how much you care about us..." Sarno said.

Eidns hesitated. Then, he broke out in laughter, slamming a hand on Sarno's shoulder as if he could stand up on his own. Sarno bore his teeth, trying to find what was so funny about his previous statement.

"Oh, my boy, I admire you so much! You're probably the one apprentice I have ever had with the determination and devotion as I had when I was a young boy. Oh! It seemed like only yesterday when my father took me to Naboo in his starship..."

Sarno gently gripped his master's hand and lowered it. "Actually, Master Eidns, I am looking into buying a small ship of my own. Err - how much do...How cheap might I get one?"

"Cheap?" Eidns questioned, "Twelve thousand credits for a used ship, guaranteed for a single trip before something goes wrong! I say you should save up for a ship like the one I have. A beauty, she is, though a new coat of paint wouldn't hurt...How much is she? About forty thousand credits, I say?"

Sarno pursed his lips and nodded respectfully. "Is there a dealership where I can buy a descent, fast ship for low price?"

Eidns hesitated, "You want to get out of here or something? Holy! Is that why you are so eager for a license, hmm? Get your license...get your ship...get out of here?"

Sarno smiled, paused, "Not permanently," he sighed, "but ever since I can remember I've wanted to explore the worlds around Iridonia."

"Ah! Son, I know how you feel."

"How much credit have you, might you say?"

"Err - about seventeen thousand."

"Well, you've got a lot of saving up to do!" chuckled Eidns, and he walked away with wavy arms.

"Have you know advice for me?" Sarno called, slightly disappointed.

"Start saving up, son, you might get enough in about five years."

Sarno sighed and looked down at the ground beneath his feet. He thought about pod racing...how he won forty thousand in his first race because there wasn't a single being who betted on him. He sure showed everyone, and the prize money was irresistible. However, deep inside himself something told him that a ship wasn't worth eighty thousand credits. Nothing was, as if possessions couldn't satisfy him. But a ship he wanted, not to be obsessed with, but to escape. Was that a crime?

Sarno wandered about. He would take the day off, but he would wander about town, something he irregularly did. And why he chose this particular day was beside the point...

The hustle and bustle of the streets held the word of the upcoming pod race and the historic Dathomirian racer, but something unknown Sarno found not to be of his fancy. He heard from somewhere, he couldn't remember where, he couldn't remember when, the secret of the Dathomirian native species. A rumor of "witches." A rumor of tamed rancor. This day, rumors wielded of the mysterious group of visitors called the "Nightsisters."

* * *

It had been a peaceful night, one people always dreamed about. Then your alarm clock wakes you up...yet you never seem to want to get out of bed. Sarno felt the same way. Quietly the sun's ray climbed the side of his bed, and before long, he face was revealed. He tightened his eyes to the irritable light that blinded him as he turned in bed. The sun's ray had just met his face, but he already knew that the sun was far past rising.

He bolted straight up in bed when there came a knock on the door. Kenfe's voice followed, and Sarno dashed around for a pair of clean pants and his array of robing...nothing special, but it paid off to wear clean clothes.

"Coming!" he called from the basement. From the first floor, the door opened.

Sarno tightened his belt when he realized something was missing. Something important to him. "Blast it!" he cursed.

"Sarno, up coming?"

"I'll be right there!" he called back. He scratched his head, trying to remember the last time he had it...his katanto...and the answer came to him, and he bit his lip. He had left it in the Tusken lands...

The moment Sarno came out of the house, the sun's light played with his face and it took but a moment before he could see again. Kenfe's sons were already on their father's speeder, and Sarno made his way, lazily, to his.

"Sarno, Master Sarno! I made this for you!" Trara called, reaching out her hand to him. In it rest a necklace adorned with nut shells and obsyddian mineral. "For rescuing me."

Sarno took the son's gift and responded, "It's beautiful." He could say nothing more. He adjusted the necklace around his neck and looked up to see Kenfe's smile reflecting back at him.

"Pod race time!"

His sons cheered, and the engines on both speeders started up simaltanously.

By the time they reached the arena, the best seats were taken and they were forced to stand in back.

"You should bet on the Gungan!" Sheha pronounced. "He's the best from Naboo."

"Betting, my child, is one thing you should never get into," he father said.

"Trara, I bet you two credits that Gungan will win."

"I bet you five," Trara pursed his lips, "I'm going for the newbie from Dathomir."

The crowd burst into cheer as one by one the racers and their attendants made their way onto the track. Commentators spoke in thirteen different languages to the thirty and a half thousand who had shown up for this event - talk about good profit and lots of it!

Kenfe narrowed his eyes, trying to point out the Dathomir rider. He was unsure what to look for under a protective racing suit...he just knew that all warriors from Dathomir were female. His heart jumped when he saw her. Long black hair and a soft face. It soon disappeared under the helmet and Kenfe sighed with excitement. "There she is, the rider from Dathomir!"

"Where?" his sons asked.

"She's riding the blue and scarlet racer, down there by the end."

"You really shouldn't torture your sons," Sarno whispered, "soon enough they're going to be asking for Pod racers for their birthdays."

"Ah, yes, wouldn't that be wonderful?"

Sarno rolled his eyes. The engines sounded. Before long, the gun was shot, and twenty-six machines dashed across the field and into the desert. The course consisted of nothing but dunes and canyon, but what made it tricky was how difficult it was to see, for around noon on Iridonia, the sky seemed the same color as the sand, and the canyons were very narrow, stretching out their fingers, trying to snatch the machines as they whizzed past, awakening them from slumber.

"There they go!" Sheha proclaimed, and now, the racers were on the distant horizon, the sound of their engines echoing on end...

The course was a long one, and the day was hot. The cheering never seemed to take a break, and soon it blended into a single tone, white noise, and Sarno drifted in and out of heatstroke. Only now did he begin to feel the fatigue after fighting in the Tusken lands. Or was it fatigue?

As if a soundproof bubble had formed around him, he looked down at Kenfe's sons, their softened words did not match their lips. His breath heaved, only his breath heard, as if he had fallen into a dreamscape.

Then, amidst the sullen feeling, a woman's voice sung out to him.

_Ahhhhhhhhhhh -  
Come to us, you hear us pleading  
Left you have, our holy grave  
Arise from the shadows your fears awaken  
Come to us, find your rest_

_Come to us, the Force we sense here  
In your mind so strong so pure  
A mind so strong is as easily broken  
Strong is the Force residing in you_

_Come to us, the spell has been broken  
Come to us, we will feast with you  
Tonight shall all the candles be blown  
Feast on the Force we shall_

_Come to us, oh, lonely savage  
Disabled you are to fight us off  
Try as you may, much pain you'll endure  
Come to us, make easy for you..._

"Kenfe! Did you hear that?" Sarno asked at once.

"Yes I did," Kenfe said excitingly, "That racer from Dathomir won! She's quite a demon-racer! She's wonderful! I'd be awefully thrilled to meet her!"

"Kenfe! The woman's voice I am asking about, did you not hear it?"

Kenfe turned to Sarno, who had suddenly gone pale. "Hey, man, are you alright?"

"I heard voices." Sarno said.

"Even for a Zabrak, hearing voices is not a good sign." Kenfe watched as his sons ran down the stairs to get a closer glimpse at the racers and the Dathomirian. He turned back to Sarno. "What was it you heard?"

"A woman's voice. A siren, it seemed, she called me to her."

"Lucky bastard!" sighed Kenfe, "I'm the one who wants a woman, and you already have women calling upon you to wait for them!"

"Kenfe, I'm serious," Sarno said, "I am serious about this...I heard voices."

"So did I," he replied, "the sound of victory for the woman from Dathomir."

A wind swept up, and automatically, Sarno's hand went to where his katanto usually was held.

"I must go," Sarno said, "I must retrieve it."

"Wha-where- Retrieve what?" Kenfe spat.

"My katanto, I left it in the Tusken lands when fighting off that raider." Sarno explained.

"Man, you can't go back there! Just buy yourself another one."

"Kenfe, I can't get another one; the one I had belonged to my father."

There was silence. Kenfe gazed deeply into his friend's eyes.

"Your father?"

"Yes, my father, according to Master Eidns."

"Sarno, I don't think it belonged to your father."

"How would you know?" at that moment, Sarno's voice seemed to rise above normal. In shock, Kenfe took a step back. "At least it was something I had that made me think about him."

Silence answered a flabbergasted Kenfe.

"I'll go in the evening, when there are shadows to hide in."

Again, Kenfe was silent.

"Tell your sons I've gone to talk with the boss."

"Sarno," Kenfe said at once, "be careful."

* * *

Thirteen cloaked beings tread the dunes of Iridonia, one leading the rest in a straight, black line. Three rode monsterous creatures never known to be tamed by any but their kind. The canyon was ahead. It was in the canyon where they sensed the Force. They were sensitive to it - it was like an enemy to them. 

The sound of a speeder raced into the canyon of the Tusken lands as it did two days before. But this time it was slightly cooler, being the evening hours. Nevertheless there was grave danger on this harsh planet, and it was not to be taken lightly.

To every shadow, Sarno was alert. As he slowed his transport to a halt, he wait there a few moments to see if anything showed itself under the moon, close to full. Only then did he get off and slowly climb down into the canyon, as quiet as a shadow.

Making his way across the floor was silent and peaceful. He squinted his eyes about, trying to find where his katanto had dropped; he only hoped the Tuskens hadn't come back and found it, kept it as a prize. It wasn't for its value which made Sarno risk his life, it was because of thethought of its previous owner - his father. Yet, how true was that?

Amidst the shadows of the moon a tiny silver sparkle caught Sarno's eyes, and he dashed towards it, relieved. Kneeling close to the ground he returned his weapon to its hoister in his belt and softly listened to the world around him. Quiet. Peaceful.

Wind.

Sarno's ears shot up. He thought he heard breathing other than his own. The night chilled. He continued to listen. Then, a voice interrupted the silence.

_Come to us, oh little wanderer  
No escape left or right, you have..._

His breathing thickened. Sarno dashed looks left and right, but no shadow save his own was seen. There was a laugh; but it did not belong to a Tusken raider, he was sure of that.

_Throughout the years we stayed isolated  
Come to me, my precious son_

_Come to me, together be justice  
The Force is strong with thee_

"Who's there?" Sarno hollared, lifting his head.

_Come to us...youngling Sarno,  
Hear our voice, follow it now  
There is no escape, make it easy  
For us...for you...Come with us..._

'_Hello_, _Sarno_,' the voice spoke.

A shadow engulfed him. At once, Sarno twisted, but as he did, a binding had found its way around his neck.

_Come to me...child of prophecy  
Sensitive of the Force we have grown  
All who hold it are our enemies  
Make it easy on yourself -_

_Come to us...youngling Sarno  
Come to us...Death speaks softly_

"Who are you?" Sarno asked, now immoble. He felt weightless, as if floating in mid-air by some magic charm. When he opened his eyes, the ground was unseen.

'_We are the Sisters of the Night..._'

'_We come for you..._'

'_The Force is strong with this one..._'

'_He must die_!'

"Release me!" Sarno hollared, "I have nothing of value."

'_Why did you stray into our domain_?'

'_For this you will surely die._'

"_Enough_!" another voice stirred emotion. There was a definate uproar amongst the mysterious species, and under a tight embrace of binding, Sarno looked up at the top of a cliff where from behind the moon rose softly. He watched in weak as it bled. An eclipse. And before it stood the silouhete of some dark warrior. "Drop the boy!"

'_Hisssssssssssss...What make you worthy the power of the Force?_' the woman commanded.

The warrior lifted a hand. The woman began to choke.

Sarno fell to ground, hit hard, and went unconscious.


End file.
